The Old and The Restless
by AuntMo
Summary: Gabriel faked his death and has been hiding out in Lebanon, KS. It figures those lunkheads would stumble upon his secret lair and nearly spoil everything. Before they figure out he is here though, he is going to have some fun at their expense. And Dean's current fascination with gently used vintage pajamas is providing him the perfect opportunity.


**Author: Aunt Mo** with an assist from **Tari Roo**  
**There is some amazing art completed by licklesoxy over at my livejournal account, auntmo9**

**Original Prompt:**Besides the dead-man robe, there's also slippers and a leg-blanket and a rocking chair. Dean slowly transforms into an old man, while Sam frantically tries to find a cure.  
**Title: **The Old and The Restless  
**Words**: 3991  
**Rating**: PG  
**Warnings**: Spoilers for season 8, all episodes aired  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or ideas from Supernatural. I only play with them for my own amusement. And hopefully yours.  
**Synopsis:** Gabriel faked his death and has been hiding out in Lebanon, KS. It figures those lunkheads would stumble upon his secret lair and nearly spoil everything. Before they figure out he is here though, he is going to have some fun at their expense. And Dean's current fascination with gently used vintage pajamas is providing him the perfect opportunity.  
A/N: Written for the Live Journal Community spn_bigpretzel's 2013 Spring Fic Exchange for **tattooeddevil**. Thanks to **Tari Roo** for the assist and beta. This fic is only partially beta'd because it wasn't finished when I sent it off. I am sure there are remaining mistakes and they are all mine. Also, thank you to **licklesoxy** for her art and her ability to work with in an incomplete story. You guys are both awesome!

Gabriel put his velvet lined slippered feet up on his ultra plush couch, leaned back and qued up the next installment of 'Real Housewives Mud Wrestle for Cash' on his wall to wall tv-screen. Beside him was a full stocked fridge of every intoxicating drink known to man and a handful banned by the gods (in order to keep to themselves).

As sweet as this set up was, Gabriel sort of wished he could invite Bacchius or Thor around for a good boys night, of low brow TV, booze and eager play boy bunnies. Alas though… it was not to be.

He had been in hiding for so long, it really was more of a way life than actually running away from anything. Or at least that's what he tried to tell himself every morning. When the muttonheads had needed help with his big brother, who also so kindly tried to shiv him, well this was one messenger that didn't need an engraved invitation. He took the shenanigans around him for what they were: a giant neon ACME sign that said "EXIT THIS WAY" and he jumped at the opportunity to get the heck out of Dodge. Or at least let people think so with his last will and porn video.

Back into hiding it had been, but the down side to life on the lam this time around was that too many people knew his trade secrets and trademarks and he had to curb his extracurricular activities. That's what happened when you got too famous, people paid attention to what you did – and what you didn't do. Wine, women and Wonka? He was still the Master of Disguises and could pretty much just waltz in wherever and take whatever. But just desserts? Paying out those pompous fools who needed to be taken down a peg or two. Well, yeah, there were some trademarks you had to be more careful about once the pantheon of gods knew you weren't just a lowly trickster. Oh and had a couple of bros who were responsible for unleashing the Apocalypse on the world, and they and their prom dresses had killed several of his old drinking buddies along the way. Made attending a bacchanal a little difficult when your 'demigod' card had been revoked.

Gabriel sighed and slurped down on a brew so rare it was probably the last bottle in existence. He chugged it down.

Since then, he had literally gone underground in the one place where most of the supernatural world couldn't find him and the Two Stooges would need a miracle in order to stumble across him. Of course trust them to get their miracle, really he should have known – their's was an unnaturally charmed life. After all, he had been watching them for so long he should have no doubts by now. They had shoved Lucy and Mike into the Cage with not much more than a fortune cookie hint from him, though he would never admit that to them, or give them the cred. When old Mother of all the Miscreants came floating out of Purgatory, they had managed to turn her into cinders. Of course, they were taken by surprise that baby bro got a Daddy –complex but still dodged that bullet, too.

Unfortunately they had let the Big Mouths out in the process. He supposed he should've poked his head out then and helped since that was in his job description – poking pompous tentacle heads and annoying them. But the mooks seemed to do okay that go around too – relatively speaking. Like the quirky red-headed Hermione wannabe had said a few days ago, there's pretty much nothing those fools of a Took couldn't do if they worked together. Stupid, stubborn dunderheads…

In typical fashion they had arrived in 'his' space and made out like it was their own. Thing 1 had even dubbed it 'the Batcave' – very original. Although, now that the muttonheads were here he was starting to think of the place as his very own Ha-Ha-Hacienda. Both of them were yet again proving him right in his assessment of their mental abilities, as neither of them had as yet questioned the small things he had done around the place, to make it feel… homey. The bunker had sat empty for fifty years and when he heard them pull up in that monstrosity of a car, he had made sure the place was spotless. Big darn clue right there – fifty years equals dust, folks! Okay, so he had taken care of that when he moved in, just like the electricity, cable and the wi-fi. An angel in hiding has got to have his reality TV and porn. But neither of the dunderheads had bothered to wonder why all that was available – after fifty years! To quote the late, great … 'Idjits'. Maybe it was time to take things up a notch, shake things up, prick a few balloons.

Gabriel grinned and flipped channels, pulling up the camera feed from the rest of the bunker. Yep, there they were. Great, dirty boots tramping all over his nice, clean, hacienda. Zooming in, Gabe's smile grew bigger. Dean was poking around in the old closet, no doubt in search of more comfortable clothing…

Perfect!

Sam glanced up briefly from the most recent book through which he had been thumbing when Dean walked in the room. "Again with the dead guy robe? Doesn't it creep you out to wear some dude's robe that died like fifty years ago?" Sam injected as much credulity as he could into his voice. The idea of wearing second hand clothes had always bothered him and this… was just plain weird.

"Enough with the dead guy robe, Sam," Dean scowled as he settled into a chair across from his brother, a pleased but annoyed smile on his face. "It's my robe now, and it's not like I haven't been dead one, two or hundred times myself. Besides its comfy."

"Fine, previously dead guy's robe it is," Sam chuckled and then glanced at his watch. "So why is previously dead guy finally getting out of bed at almost noon? That is not like you unless you're sick, injured, or hungover…or you, you got laid." Looking up in horror, Sam gasped, half mockingly, "Please tell me you did not bring someone back here, Dean."

"Naw, man," Dean answered as he scrubbed his palm over his face. "I'm just tired. Staying up late worrying about the trials and about your sorry ass."

Dean wasn't about to admit it to Sam, since he had enough on his shoulders, but he was sore, as sore as if he had wrestled a rugaru. Twice. On a Tuesday after driving 48 hours straight after a Zeppelin concert and a werewolf hunt. And he didn't know why. They had been laid up here at the Batcave for a coupla days with nothing to do but research, and rather than feeling rested (a.k.a. bored) he was starting to feel like he had been through the ringer. Maybe all those 'deaths' were catching up with him. And wasn't that a pleasant thought.

Sam gave his brother the once over, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. Dean's face though was open and worried and well… tired. But the scan did reveal something worrying – to Sam that is. "Did you buy yourself matching slippers the last time you went on a supply run?"

He was staring at the neat, old fashioned, 'old man' slippers on Dean's feet. Had Dean ever worn a pair of slippers in his life? Startled, Sam looked up at Dean.

"Nope," Dean said smiling with his schoolboy charm. "I found them here, in the same storage area as the robe. They're lined with sheep skin and are warm and fuzzy, almost as great as memory foam for your toes. Almost."

"Speaking of which, how the hell did you ever learn about memory foam to decide you wanted your own mattress?"

"Infomercials."

"You mean porn."

"No, infomercials. Did you know that there's this cream…"

"No, no, I don't want to know, man. Seriously. Stop talking."

Dean grinned at Sam and put his slippered feet up on the table and leant back and sighed, "This is the life, Sam."

Sam paused, his mouth open to argue, when an idea tickled his brain. So instead, he smiled back and said, "We're almost out of beer. Have you been having a six-pack night cap?" He said it lightly, going for humor rather than censure.

Puzzled, Dean shook his head and said, "Nah, man. I got enough to last at least a week. What are you talking about?" Sam shrugged like it made no difference to him and Dean got up, grumbling all the while, shuffling his feet towards the refrigerator. He pulled the door open with rather more force than was required and started into its ginormous depths.

"Well, pickle my gizzard. You're right. Fresh out of beer."

_Pickle my…_ Sam mouthed to himself, but looked alert as Dean patted down his robes pockets. "Guess I pop out quick and get some more. Maybe some pizza too, and pie. Oh yeah.. pie."

Sam watched as Dean found his keys and made towards the impressive entrance. "Wait, what! You can't go out like that!" he squeaked without really thinking about it.

Dean stopped, turned back and drew himself up to his impressive slipper-clad height and said, "Man walks down street in a robe like this, you know he's not afraid of anything."

"Because he's probably lost his mind! Dude, they'll think you some crazy serial killer or out patient on a bender!" Sam squawked, standing up as if to prevent this travesty of shopping fashion.

"Like old Blue Eyes said Sammy, 'I did it my way."

And Dean was gone.

When they had settled into the Batcave, they quickly realized that Lebanon, Kansas, despite its claim to being the geographical center of the country, didn't have much to offer in the way of supplies. And neither one of them had wanted to be quickly recognized by the locals as being settled into the area. So they routinely rotated the various smaller towns around Lebanon that they would drive to for supplies. Today Phillipsburg received the luck of the draw.

The drive in to town was pretty awesome. The sun was out, the birds were singing, and despite the lingering ache in his bones, life suddenly seemed better – lighter. White's Foodliner was a tad over priced and over sized for the small town and probably served the greater area as well, but Dean happily parked in the front, clambered out and fond a shopping cart with no squeaky or wonky wheels.

He nodded at security as he trundled in and barely noticed the odd look he received in return. Man. Robe. No Fear.

The booze was an easy fix and Dean loaded the cart down with a few cases of El Sol and Bud Light. Next was the carb aisle and he threw in several packets of Doritos, Cheetos and extra crispy pork rinds. For a long while he stared at the pork rinds, feeling an old familiar ache in his chest, put them back and threw in low sodium air popped BBQ flavored who-knew-whats. Next protein.

It was in the diary aisle that he hit gold. A sweet, gorgeous vision of beauty was straining to reach a half-pint of fat free milk on the top shelf. A little older than he usually went for, but he was never one to turn his back on a lady need. Beaming at his open road to a chivalrous act, Dean trundled over and schmoozed, "Help you there, little lady?"

Blushing like sixteen year old, she giggled and said, "Would you be a dear?"

Handing her the milk, Dean smiled softly, "Does your mom know you're out shopping on your own?"

Giggling some more, she patted his hand softly, "What a charmer, you are. I must have at least ten years on you."

Leaning casually over his cart, because it was sexy and not because his back ached, Dean grinned, bobbing his eyebrows, "Well, maybe you could show me a thing or two… sometimes the old tricks are the best."

"Flatterer!" She shot him a flirty look while glancing at his get up said, "I haven't seen you around here before. Are you in town visiting family or did you bust out of the retirement center?"

Dean gave her a quizzical glance while chuckling uncomfortably. "Neither really. Just out on my own getting the essentials and helping out the occasional damsel in distress."

"Hmm, okay," she shrugged with a coy smile. "Thanks. Be seeing ya, handsome."

She strolled off, shooting him a covert look. Dean made no effort to hide the fact that he was checking her out as she walked away and she waved her hips a little more. Absently snatching up a pint of whatever was closest, he followed her before being sidetracked by the aisle of vegetables.

Poor ole Sammy was probably yearning for some green crap, so Dean tossed in random interesting looking things. Turnips. Sage. Chinese watercress. Purple broccoli. "What the hell is this?" he said aloud, holding up a mutation of a tuber.

"Sweet potato."

Dean turned and his breath caught in his chest. It was Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman. Well, okay, she looked a heck of a lot like her, but close enough that it didn't matter. "Do they ship you in special?"

"What?"

"All these smoking hot women."

Dr Quinn smiled at him, a bit of her hair coming loose from her bun, and it looked as long as on the show. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Only the hot ones."

She smiled and stared at him and suddenly her eyes widened. For a spilt second, Dean thought an angry husband/boyfriend/girlfriend/or ghost was behind him – anything was possible these days. "You look familiar, like someone I've seen on television."

Now Dean was really concerned. The last thing he needed was to be identified as a wanted criminal. "I get that a lot you know. I must have one of those common faces."

But she smiled broader, as recognition dawned across her face and gripped his hand, the one holding the sweat potato. "Oh no, I would know that face anywhere. You look a lot like… like Dr Joe Gannon. I had the biggest crush on him when I was younger."

Surprised, Dean shot a look at himself in the reflective silver of the scales near by. A small, hunter part of his brain waved all sorts of flags at him when he thought he saw graying hair and wrinkles, but all Dean could think was, 'Cool!'

Sam didn't look up as he heard Dean arrive home. He was buried in several old tomes, trying to confirm his suspicions on the next trial.

Dean ambled into the kitchen and put down a month's worth of groceries on the counter top and said cheerily, "Hey, do you remember Medical Center? I think you might have been too young to remember even the reruns but funny thing happened today…"

Uncaring of Dean's trip down TV memory lane, Sam said, "Hey, come here a sec will you?"

"I tell you, Sam, that town is chock full of foxy cougars. It's like Xanadu or something," Dean sighed as he made his way over to Sam, bringing over a beer as he did.

"Dean, shut…" Sam looked up and nearly fell off his chair. Dean stopped, and Sam blurted out, "What the hell happened to you? Have you been playing poker with witches again?"

"What?"

"You aged thirty years, man!"

"I did?"

"You did!"

"Cool! That explains why I'm suddenly a cougar magnet!"

"Cougar? Really, Dean," Sam sighed, shaking his head in disgust.

"Yeah," Dean said waggling his eyebrows. "Me and Dr Quinn Medicine Woman are going to make our own version of Dr. Sexy later on tonight, if you know what I mean."

"Don't you think you have more important things to worry about, like why you have aged all of a sudden? Besides the slippers, what other objects have you been handling around the bunker lately?"

"Nothing." Then he began to tick things off his slightly gnarled fingers. "Well, unless you count the two-headed snake ring, the mini-Derringer, the chain mail vest and oh, that glowing flying ball thingy that I am pretty sure is a Golden Snitch." Dean flashed his brother a cocky grin.

"Dean! I'm serious! We've got to figure this out."

"You can figure it out. Dr. Sexy has a date at The Chubby Pickle."

And once again, Dean was gone.

This had not worked at all like Gabriel expected it to. He thought for sure Dean would panic at getting old so quickly. He didn't expect him to be a geriatric Casanova, scoring with every post-menopausal woman in a one hundred mile radius and basking in the glory of his new "distinguished gentleman" look.

Sam on the other hand was the one getting desperate about it all, staying up half the night trying to figure out what had caused his brother's change and not worrying about his own. And that kid didn't need anything else to stress out about. He already had the weight of the underworld on his shoulders.

Gabriel hit the off button on the remote, shutting down the closed circuit feed from the rest of the bunker.

He was not sure how long this room would be safe for him, as his available space here at gotten smaller over the months as the muttonheads had discovered more and more of the bunker. Just last week he had to give up the shooting range, which he had been using as his own personal hollodeck so to speak. It was big enough to re-create TV land when he got bored watching the real thing. Though not nearly as fun as when he had been able to throw a hapless schmuck or two into it for his own amusement. That is why he had come up with his current plan to begin with.

This was not the fun he had hoped for. He had to change his game plan.

In retrospect, Sam's first clue should have been the Weekly World News he saw lying on the table. He thought Dean might have picked one up along with his regular dose of Busty Asian Beauties. But then there was the book in his bedroom he found on demigods open to the chapter entitled "Tricksters: Enemy or Ally?" The final straw however was the journal of one of the Men of Letters, left in the kitchen, with an entry in detail on why he thought they had a guardian angel, held open in place with a lollipop. Sam had the summoning ritual prepared five minutes after he dropped the book back on the counter.

"Well, it took you long enough kiddo, but you didn't need to beg, seeing as how I've been right under your nose for awhile."

"How long?" Sam growled, barely restraining himself from grabbing the angel by the neck.

"How long what, junior?" Gabriel said playfully snatching his lollipop back.

"How long have you been alive? How long have you been here? How long since you started aging Dean? All of it."

"Hmm," Gabriel answered thoughtfully glancing to the ceiling while Sam became more agitated. "First things first. I've been alive a very long time. Higher than your Gigantor brain can count … You see, I never really died, I just high-tailed it over to this safe house after that rather uncomfortable business in Indiana."

"You mean you have been alive this whole time?" Sam asked incredulously. "And you could have helped us…when I lost my soul, when Cas lost his mind? With the Leviathans? When Dean was in Purgatory…with all of that…and you were just here…doing what? Eating Snickers and watching porn?"

"Well, yeah…helping is not really my style. I mean, look what happened the last time I got involved."

"So what, you just went back your old ways? Messing with our lives?"

"Actually, no. I just hung out here most of the time. It's not like I could play at being a Trickster after the two of you blew my cover! And since I was getting bored playing June Cleaver when no one appreciated a good dust free bunker, that is when I decided to see if you would sit up and take notice."

Sam was done playing catch up. "Change him back."

"Why do you think I decided to finally show my face? It's no fun for me watching Dean-o playing Hugh Hefner to the senior ladies. But I need your help in getting your brother home so I can change him back."

"Why can't you go out and just zap him back?"

"Because thanks to you guys, this handsome mug is _way_ too recognizable out there. In fact, when you two morons invited Prometheus over for tea and cookies, I decided to visit the North Pole as an elf just to be on the safe side. "

"So snap your fingers and pretend to be Betty White. Then let Dean work his magic on you and bring you home."

"Nice idea dumbass!" Gabriel snorted as he crossed his arms in defiance. "I already tried that but with less Betty White and more Diane Keaton. And as much as it gags me to admit it, while your brother was interested, he wouldn't bring me back here. Maybe if you call him and tell him you have the sniffles or you stubbed your toe he will run back here to take care of you."

"Dean doesn't…I…Fine!"

"Sammy! You okay?" Dean bellowed as he walked into the library. "You made it sound like a five alarm fire. This better be good. You interrupted my date with a Linda Carter look-a-like. I don't know what it's the water out here, but all of the older women are friggin' gorgeous. "

It wasn't exactly a fire, but Dean couldn't quite believe what he was seeing either.

"And that is Metatron's symbol," Gabriel pointed out on the papers laid out before Sam.

"You're sure?" his brother asked growing excited.

"I'd know that snot-nosed booger's work anywhere, kiddo."

"What the Hell?!" Dean yelled as he hobbled in a little closer.

"Um, no actually," Gabriel answered with a smirk. "You would think that since you've been there you would know that this is your little hidey-hole and not the underworld. Of course, I am not really sure how Crowley has re-decorated the place since he's been in charge. Your guess is as good as mine."

"Sam, what's he doing here?" Dean demanded pointed an arthritic finger at their guest. "Of all the people who can't stay dead, why do you come around the most?"

"Gee, I missed you, too, you lunkhead," Gabriel answered affectionately. "I really just came by to collect your ruby slippers and ball gown since your brother doesn't seem to like the new you."

"No, no, no!" Dean shook his head furiously as it began to sink in. "You are not taking back my robe or my slippers. I love them! They're comfy!"

"Oh, I just need them for a minute. I'll take the whammy off them…and you. Then you'll be back to your normal annoying self, instead this _Dawson's Creaky Knees_ thing you're doing now. I've seen a lot of bad television over the years and even I'm getting sick of this."

"You're just jealous because you're not getting the action I am," Dean boasted as he reluctantly walked over to a closet, reached in to grab the articles and tossed the angel his robe and slippers. "Wait a minute…does this mean my luck with the ladies will change too?"

Gabriel just grinned at him. "Thanks for the idea, Dean-o!"


End file.
